


The Witch's Familiar

by Kendrix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ...who are still villains, A possible origin for Lotor's henchladies, Evil Overlord Family, Gen, Lotor's Generals - Freeform, Lotor's relationship with his parents is... complicated, Lotor-centric, Villains As People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-18 22:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11884479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrix/pseuds/Kendrix
Summary: Just how, exactly, did Kova the immortal cat wind up with Prince Lotor, and later, Narti?Twoshot.





	1. got blood cold as Ice

If the Prince were to look back, he _would_ probably have found something like innocent memories, at the recesses of his mind, somewhere far, far back, something faint and graying.

They might have included a moment or two of a somewhat listless young boy whose dramatic pout was nonetheless somewhat deliberate, sitting on a bench or chest in a dusty room with instruments that ranged from state of the art wonders of mechanics to old-fashioned beakers and distillation rigs, as well as a variety of ominously floating crystals.

Somewhere in the dim lights of the room, a rustling could be heard, and one might spy the shadowed outline of a robed figure working, bony gaunt fingers endlessly working, testing, refining and _seeking_ and generally being rather consumed with concerns that weren't him, all the while he sat there, vaguely bored, swinging his legs back and forth.

He didn't quite recall why he didn't have anywhere else to be at this moment, or what his current opinion of that person had been; He thinks that, at this stage, here may have been something like a distant cold comfort in knowing that there were others who looked somewhat like him.

Perhaps whatever he was supposed to be doing had fallen through and so he'd come here –

He wasn't anxious nor wearing the carefully assembled veneer he presented to almost everyone else, but neither did the visit feel like a treat or serious occasion; It was not unusual for him to just exist in her presence, not exactly stewing but fermenting ever so quietly, yet still young enough to glance at her with some degree of curiosity and openness as he observed her at work.

It was not his first time in this particular room, and in truth, he did think that he'd picked up some noises of some origin that he couldn't quite trace on the previous times, but, who knew what it might be, in a place like this...

It was, _however,_ the first time that he would directly encounter its source, and whatever there was to be expected of this place, it wasn't _this_.

This was something _novel_ , something that didn't fit with his previous understanding of the world, that is, something to be studied and understood, narrowing his eyes, the young Prince remained cautiously sitting in place, quietly slipping his hands onto the surface he was sitting up in case he needed to get up and bolt – and the same time, he moved no further, fixating on the unexpected small creature with unwavering, piercing eyes.

If it had been some kind of hideously deformed mutation, or a creature of oozing slime, he might have understood, but facing him here was nothing more than a small feline creature with the correct number of limbs, and all of them matching kinds of flesh – if it was modified, and he knew better than to exclude that just from it its appearance, it must be a subtle kind, for surely, the creature was facing him with what could only be described as a body language of suspicion, its stance ready to leap with its hair standing on edge, its tail just slightly raised, but he recognized this as a mirror image of his own initial confusion.

Something he had already found by then was that he was good at observing other beings, to infer things about them or, gauge how they would react to one thing or another.

Right now, his observation told him that making any move toward the creature would probably startle it away, but as a matter of principle, he was going to stand his ground here, for he had all intention to keep observing.

Thus, young Lotor did nor break eye contact with the being, but he slowly, carefully shifted his posture into a more relaxed, welcoming state, hoping that it would do the same. He had no way of knowing whether it would register this, let alone understand, but it was bound to soften up over time.

At least, Lotor could not help but wonder if he was, at least in a sense, being observed back – It was more careful than truly scared, holding itself with a certain poise, not so much waiting as forming a coiled spring of kinetic energy as if it were just about to move, but not before ascertaining that the coast was clear.

The young prince was not familiar with this kind of beast, but from what he had seen so far, he thought it an admirable creature, and he thought he could sense a curious yet elegant nature behind its pupils – even putting aside the question of what it was doing here and the person this room belonged to, Lotor deemed that this creature was as interesting a sight to study as any other and began to slowly, carefully test the waters.

He understood that if he startled it away, it would leap away and disappear back into the dark corners of this room, leaving him to content himself with all the dead, barely moving things in this room, its third occupant included, so he proceeded with caution, always keeping his eye on the creature as he slowly leaned forward, slid toward it on his his improvised bench and, toward the end, even held one of is little hands in what was a cautious, calculated move despite the thin smirk appearing on his face when he saw that the creature hadn't fled yet.

He figured that his outstretched little palm must have made for a sufficiently nonthreatening offering, small and soft as it was compared to even what the other children had to offer, with only the barest hints of claws... not so good for scratching and tearing at things, but perhaps, he might find some other use for them, and he seemed all the more certain of that when he beckoned the smaller creature with a wink of his inner fingers.

Then, it dawned on him that he had miscalculated, perhaps failed to take into account to which extent this little critter may have been used to contact with other humanoids, and, by extension, what might result from convincing it that he could be counted in the 'friendly' category – the creature made a rapid approach that the young prince did not expect nor feel he was quite prepared for yet, and, in the weakness of his childhood, he let out a loud, high-pitched yelp as the creature came closer, raising up his arms and backing away toward the back of his seat when the cat rather harmlessly brushed against his resting calves.

 

This, unfortunately, was bound to draw the attention of the rooms currently rather occupied owner, and Lotor froze; There was not exactly a precedent for this sort of situation, so he had no means of knowing how exactly his father's right-hand witch was going to respond to catching him uttering such a disgraceful sound, or even to the presence of the creature itself, after all he he didn't truly know whether it was even _supposed_ to be here, he had not actually spent that much time at her private laboratories; Certainly, even then he knew that he was a trusted confidant of his father's and that she'd just casually lurked in the vicinity of his life for as long as he could remember, he didn't really know what to expect of her at the time, perhaps for as simple as reason as his being a little boy while she was an objectively intimidating sort of person, but the heir of the Galra Empire was not to be daunted, so he looked up at her, right into the eyes, unwilling to dig himself deeper into potential disgrace.

 

Now he'd had many opportunities to observe her and catch onto her most common patterns of reactions, but this was not among them.

It took him a while to classify what he was witnessing, to recognize that he was, in fact, witnessing a low, raspy chuckle rather than some sort of gurgle or choking noise.

The whole sight rather confused him more than anything else, even more so when she leant forward to stretch out one bony hand and place it, squarely, atop the crown up his head,pushing slightly in order to induce him to meet her glowing gaze.

She was wont to poke and prod him at times, of course, she was a woman of science and Lotor was, as she would at times vaguely allude to, somehow something the likes of which had never really existed before, besides, his Majesty the Emperor would like her assurance that he would make a suitable heir apparent for his sprawling fiefdom one day.

She would at times remark about some features of his as they developed, always, subtly _off_ from what would be expected from his peers, or comment on where some of his organs had ended up in comparison to his fathers' .

That was the only comparison there could ever be, given that Lotor didn't have a mother – at least, not in any sort official capacity, because that would have posed the question where the other half of his genetics had come from.

He had not yet grown resentful of all this, perhaps because he didn't fully understand it yet, but little Lotor did find it a bit uncomfortable for her to lay hands on him as if he were one of her machines, more so if it happened under such unusual circumstances...

 

He didn't even know that she _could_ make noises like that, and he was feeling quite a little bit exposed given the situation he'd been caught in, and though he was trying his best to maintain as much princely dignity as a small boy would be capable of, he was probably still glancing over to that unexpected feline and looking somewhat stumped and embarrassed, as if he had been caught red-handed at some shameful deed, and given that she didn't seem to plan on imploding his small skull with magic and see if his father wouldn't prefer to bequeath his empire to something she'd cooked up in a vat, Lotor was really at a loss at what her intentions were meant to be.

“What is it?” he asked, a bit more awkwardly than he intended.

Finally, she let go of him and returned, mercifully, to her usual demeanor without any further attempts at distorted grimaces that did not fit on her face.

“I was just reminded about some occurrence, long time ago.” she mused, none too invitingly. From the way her brows furrowed, Lotor could deduce that she couldn't even recall just _how_ long it had been. “I believe it was something involving your father...”

A topic that brought up complicated feelings even then, even if he could not yet name or explain the splotched cocktail of mixed feelings that this mention dredged up. The strategist and performer in him wouldn't want to pass up any valuable information no matter the source, but another, simpler more central part of him that was more prominent back in those days just didn't want to hear in that moment.

 

“But that is not important now.” That strange, unfamiliar expression that had come over her face dispersed as suddenly as it had appeared, and now that she had ascertained what had caused the sudden startled sound earlier, her mind seemed to have darted right back to her workbench before her body could catch up to it, back to flesh and formulas and _quintessence_ , where it always seemed to reside. “I have work to do. Wait here until your attendants come to pick you up for sword practice. ”

 

In passing, on her way back to where she had been working, she turned her glance to the small creature that had ostensibly caused the whole incident.

The feline creature promptly scurried over to her with some apparent recognition.

Of course, what's a witch without her familiar.

“Is that yours?” he still remarked, though it wasn't necessary in the strictest sense. “I wasn't aware that you kept animal companions.”

The question was designed not to get a specific information, but to get her to talk more – Even then, Lotor had realized that with the right questions and inflections, you could get most people to tell you just about everything without them even realizing it was your doing.

The Witch was not 'most people', so he didn't even bother playing innocent where she was concerned, but he still felt a need to know to at least somehow twist this situation ever so slightly into some shape of his desiring.

He was good at persuading people, too, but that was a talent that neither she nor his father ever had all too much use for; Emperor Zarkon's will was absolute, and once he'd decided something – for example, what role a heir of his would be expected to play in particular situation – there would be no convincing him, and any attempt to sway his decision were, as a rule, poorly tolerated.

Even then, Lotor understood that this was nothing directed at him personally - His majesty the Emperor had been that way since time immemorial, and he wasn’t just suddenly going to change now.

Even the witch had to affect some semblance of submission if she was to exist in his vicinity, let alone have any hopes of getting words of advice into the air surrounding them, and even then, he very much reserved the right not to listen.

The young prince understood that... not that this made it any easier, for the part of him that was just a boy, despite his precocious intelligence. Nor for the parts of him that weren't, those emergent outlines of a maturing young man who had many gifts to offer to this world, gifts that were not being used, assets that went underutilized, and when he thought that his potential might never be realized, he felt-

He felt a _different_ thing when he looked back at it with the frustrated ambitions of a young man, but back then, it was a child's tender heart that felt disappointed.

He'd understood very quickly, that his father and his confidant had very clear expectations of the purpose he was supposed to serve in the greater scheme of the Empire, and how, exactly, he was supposed to do that...so, he relished every ever so tiny degree of freedom, every minuscule choice that allowed for him to leave his own handwriting on a slice of time.

But surely, they would not refuse him on such a trivial matter?

 

At least, the witch paused, and spoke to the young Prince once more. “I've had him a long, long time. His name is Kova,” she said this dryly, nonchalantly, as one would recite a definition from a textbook.

As well she should – Lotor had already seen enough impossible things from her today, and he thought hell should freeze over if she were to speak in the bouncy, affectionate manner in which people customarily introduced their pets.

Still, Lotor did not flinch away from her – for one thing, there was very little that could deter him once he'd set his sights on an ambition (even one as modest as this), and besides, he derived pride from standing his ground as far as he could. He was _good_ at arguing things, and even then, that was his pride, in a playful, boyish manner which he never quite discarded:

“Can I play with him?”

He was not quite certain if she understood that playing was something that children did; She was so absorbed in her work, you could have thought she knew nothing outside these walls.

He did not even bother with a 'please', but he did make sure that he could present a rationale:

“I won't be required for sword practice for at least half a varga, and I have no other duties to attend to at this moment. We'll go to the corridor so we won't disturb your work.”

 

At this, she actually sighed, a tired sigh pushed out beneath narrowed, scrutinizing brows as she fixated on his determined little face, but the meaning behind it was not quite what the young Prince initially suspected.

In many ways, Lotor was very unlike his father, both inside and out, but one striking similarity they had always shared in common was the shape of their eyes – And Haggar knew that expression in the young boy's pair. It was, perhaps, the last thing left in this universe that could cause her any grief, and after many, many years, no even before them, she had learned to read them as a glance: _Not Negotiable_.

“Go ahead,” she surrendered, faintly dour. “Just make sure you don't get any scratches on yourself, don't open any doors, and stay in this section of the complex. Do not be seen. His majesty would disapprove greatly if a member of the imperial family were spotted in some predicament not befitting their station. It would reflect badly on him.”

 

It's a win then.

And perhaps that gave him the confidence to go even further in his audacity:

“Is that also why no one is allowed to know that you're my mother?”

He spoke bluntly, simply, as if it were the natural thing which it never was, not sheepishly or moved, yet maintaining plausible deniability.

After all, it should not be unusual for children to ask inappropriate question.

The witch, on the other hand, already seemed to have dismissed the encounter in her mind, ready to head back to her pursuits when his when his words interrupted her thoughts.

Her plans for the day did not involve him asking this question right here, right now and certainly not at this point, so she was somewhat displeased, though not alarmingly so.

Perhaps she deemed him too young for this conversation, if she had considered it at all, and with it the possibility that he might actually want to know one day or otherwise do and think things that went beyond what he was supposed to be or do according to the needs and purposes of herself and her emperor.

“Come on. You must have known that I was going to figure it out eventually. I am the son of an Emperor. And a researcher.”

Her gaze did not soften but neither did it harden by much.

He liked to think it was because he had point, or, at the very least, that there had been a good calculation on his part – after all, she could hardly punish him for being _too smart_ ; If she did not harbor any feeling of pride or kinship toward him, she must at least understand that the Prince of the Galra empire must not be a fool. She had told him so many times.

“...you understand that this has to remain confidential...?”

The young prince nods fiercely at this, not even daring to breathe a word lest the air exhaled from his lips would cut short the opening of this long-awaited door.

He knew better than to expect very much of anything to trickle from her lips, perhaps a few morsels interspersed with your basic lies to children and the inconvenient parts tellingly omitted.

Lotor would take what he could get, and then he would lie in wait patiently until the grass had grown over this occurrence and the conversation had slipped from her mind, and then he might do some 'research' of his own – it never ceased to amuse him how easily some adults could be motivated by making big eyes and asking not-so-innocent questions.

But right now, the moment hadn't closed yet, and once he had assured her hat he wouldn't spill their precious secrets, well...

Had he been older he would have thought twice about pushing her further, but for better or worse, the young prince had not yet learned to dominate every fluttering yearning of his chest – and besides, he thought he _deserved_ to know.

What more, he needed to, for what sort of strategist did not keep stock of his assets?

This was not just about her, or about His Majesty, and he was altogether displeased by their way of acting like it was none of his business.

This matter pertained to _his very life-_

But let's not use that as an excuse to deny that the young prince was, on some subliminal level, still grabbing for a connection that was – no, not wholly absent and present insofar as it wasn't incompatible with their natures, but very much sporadic and very close to conditional.

It was frustrating, in the way a loose contact on a technological device could be.

In her own way, she distantly resembled a nagging, even concerned mother and wife enough that it stung when she showed so little faith in Lotor's budding attempts to carve out his path in his very own way, a way he would not truly find for many years to come, enough that he always _knew_ , on some level, even before he got a glimpse of what she kept beneath her hood, but never so much that he could have been _satisfied._

She never approached him, (or anything for that matter, living or otherwise) without the analytic glance of the scientist, the ruthlessness of the dark sorceress and the calculations of a secret empress, and that meant that she, too, was of the opinion that Lotor was to be an asset to the empire and to be managed and regulated as such – but it was strictly her vision of the Empire that he was to serve, hers and his father's.

So be it then.

They could be assets for _his_ wants and desires, too. And right now, his desire was for knowledge.

“...where do we come from? I know the homeworld was destroyed in the early centuries of father's reign, but-”

“It was one of the first worlds your father conquered. Their ruler was a cowardly fool who refused to grasp power when it was right in front of him. When he refused to submit to your father's demand, he made an example of them.”

The boy knew enough of His Majesty's practices to know what that meant; He was being educated to one day rule this Empire, after all.

“So we are the last.”

“ _We_ are of the _Galra Empire_. That is _all_ we are.”

Or, that's what she had chosen to be – No one had asked Lotor.

It wasn't like he sympathized with those fallen people of hers, if they had been wiped out they must indeed have been fools, as someone too cowardly to grasp for power was fit to be called; It spoke of the witches' good sense that she turned on them.

But if reluctance to embrace greatness was to be foolish, then what was to be said of those who would let perfectly good assets go to waste?

A question for another day.

“You may go, _Your Highness_.” she stated, curtly, cutting off any further inquiries and emphasizing his title to remind him that appearances were to be maintained. "I have much work to do."

 

Young Lotor knew to pick his battles, and made for the door – and for what it's worth, the small feline creature that had sparked this entire situation followed behind him.

But in these days, his heart was still soft, and there could be no better proof than the way he lingered in the doorway, even once he'd turned to leave.

He never went so far as to call her 'mother', but this was the closest he would come:

“Did _you_ have a cat when you were very young?”

“What does it matter? I don't recall. And neither will _you_ , given a few thousand years.”

 


	2. and a heart made of Stone

His ship is a far cry from the accommodations that he's used to on his father's command ship, but it's still spacious and polished enough to make an impression, and that's precisely what he intends to do.

Everything in this room is carefully arranged and deliberately presented, from the banquet table covered in a plethora of outlandish delicacies, to his own person as he slowly shifts toward his audience in his command chair.

From his slouching, unceremonious posture, to his left hand that is gently stroking the purring feline companion seated in his lap, all is crafted to shake up any preconceptions that his guests may associate with _The Prince Of The Galran Empire_.

He sits before them as they come in standing, facing them from below their line of sight, and he smiles as them, warmly, yet impassively, his best-rehearsed politician smile tinted with speckles of genuine elation.

 

So his father thinks that throwing him out to the border systems will make him play ball, or at least stop him talking back to him.

He thought his ambition to be the tantrum of a stubborn child, something to be waited out... well it was a good thing then that he was immortal because he would wait a long time.

Border Systems it is, then. He is officially here to conquer in the name of the empire, and that's what he will do, not as a 'punishment' but as an opportunity, and, for once in his life, he'd have the freedom to do it _his own_ way.

There was no 'Border System' so insignificant that it couldn't scrounge up some assets in a pinch – Lotor would make good, good use of it, but he would do it his _own_ way.

The first priority became clear to him almost right upon his arrival – He tired of his father's boorish, cutthroat underlings who stumbled over their feet to compete with each other and disparaged him behind his back.

Besides, he was now, for all intents and purposes, the Overseer of a small border system, which was usually a coveted position with great chances for ascending the empire's hierarchy even further...if you hadn't been exiled to the far reaches of the empire to 'teach you a lesson'.

Yeah, Lotor did not trust those bloodhounds as far as he could throw them.

What he needed were versatile, sklled enforcers that would carry out his plans his way without mucking everything up, subordinates who would follow his orders without question and be loyal only to him – so he went to look for them, but not where his father would have.

His sphere of influence may, for the moment, be reduced to this handful of backwater planets, but Lotor, as ever, would take what he could get,and he would make sure to use the assets at his disposal to their fullest potential.

He didn't even bother with the old guard of generals whose opinions of him were already obdurate as rock; Instead, he took his recruits from the shadows and the street corners, all the hidden, long forgotten nooks and crannies that no one else had ever thought to look in.

He found many half-breeds there, most of which weren't fortunate enough to have parents influential enough to cover things up and have any mention of their parentage expunged from the records.

This was the first time that the Prince saw others like him in any greater number –

There was a great diversity in their looks, even compared to the usual variations between the Galra themselves. Even crosses with the same species could vary greatly depending on whether it was their father or mother who was the alien.

Some of them were quite like Lotor himself in that they could have almost passed for Galra if their proportions hadn't been off in some way, their features skewed in some direction; Perhaps they were on the shorter, slighter side, or in rarer cases, too large, their skin too thin or their pigmentation ever so slightly outside the typical range. Others had a general stature much like your average Galra but bore one or two huge, distinctive features that clearly did not belong.

What surprised Lotor the most was that a fair amount of them barely looked Galra at all – until he saw them moving like lightning in the arena, fearlessly hacking away at their enemies, the purplish tissues beneath their alien skin revealed by the burns and lacerations they incurred.

Many had the white hair, others did not. Fur, ridges or scales were relatively rare unless the other parents' species also possessed something like that.

Most had at least the fangs and claws, however, usually to a greater degree than Lotor himself did – another common trait was a particular intermediate appearance of the eyes which rarely ever held the characteristic solid glow of full-blooded Galra – in a lot of cases, including Lotor's own, the iris would be distinct but unusual or lacking in its pigmentation, resulting in the purple tissues beneath shining through and a blue-to purplish overall coloration, which could be different from either parent, if Lotor's own case was any indication.

Many of them had spent their lives so far underestimated or even scorned, seen as either pathetically feeble or hideously warped creatures, but perhaps in part due to the defiance inherent in such a statement more than anything, Lotor thought many of them were quote pleasing to the eyes; their strange, warped shapes delighted his twisted mind more than most pure Galra women did, perhaps because of what they represented, or because some of them might have been closer to what a young female of his mother's species might have been like.

Rumors of his rather idiosyncratic tastes were already spread far and wide, and he knew they infuriated his father to no end, not that his own choice of consort had been all that conservative; The Emperor's gripe was much rather that Lotor refused to be a slave to 'propriety' and 'discipline' nor hide himself in the shadows.

The Prince was a performer at heart and he was so, so tired of waiting in the wings – and he understood that he couldn't be the only one who felt this way.

So, he rounded them up, he had them dressed, fed and armored, and he made them fight. As far as the old guard at his post was concerned, he sold it to them as a spectacle, and they didn't question it any further, simply humoring the eccentric Prince's whims and idiosyncrasies of not quite a bit lusty to see some curious half-breed innards splattered on the sand of the small arena housed in the space station that served as this post's main control hub.

So be it; Lotor did not really care what it was they thought as long as it was conductive to his purposes.

As for his candidates... even under the pretense of a fight for his personal amusement (and he had been careful to imply, but never outright confirm that there would be more), this was one of, if not _the_ first time that anyone ever expected _anything_ of them; Even if they realized that they would be chosen for their power rather than out of compassion for their existence in itself, they knew well that this was the one chance they might ever have.

These were the bastard children of powerful officers, the results of hidden, illicit romances, or in some cases, simple byproducts at war;

Most of them would not have survived this far if they did not understand the harsh realities of this world; They all knew what a post in the crown prince's personal guard would mean, and if they didn't, they would learn from their fellow combatant's zeal or pay the price of their feeble-mindedness in blood.

Few creatures were so laughably altruistic and honorable that they would look that particular gift horse in the mouth – that also made it more interesting to observe them, for there was not just their strength and skill to consider, but their character.

And while Lotor appreciated a fight as much as any Galra (if the tactics weren't _too_ stale), he was also a watcher and reader of people, and took some distinct pleasure in witnessing the fighters themselves, their growls and declarations – So much of a person was revealed in moments of extremity; Some of them grew vicious, clawing and scratching to the last of their strengths for one moment in the sunlight like vines in a jungle, others fought with equal ferocity, but never let go of their personal sense of honor, while others yet kept up a nonchalant facade or even sparks of genuine optimism.

Then, Lotor chose. The victorious one, sure, but a few others too. All his picks were strong and possessed of valuable abilities, but more than any discernible pattern, he picked the most interesting ones, while keeping in mind that he would need to construct a small unit.

 

Even then, he took great care to present a certain image, to create particular visuals to stick in the onlooker's mind – Himself watching from the throne, smiling down benevolently at winners and losers alike, gesturing with his hands for losing, but still living combatants to be spared; Himsels leaping into the very sands of the arena, reaching out his hands to the tournament's victor, a stoic, short-haired girl whose eyes were still trying to place him; How he personally dispatched a large creature earlier, as a bit of an open ceremony, darting and swirling around its massive bulk as it expended its energy with futile attempts to charge him, until he finally cut it down with one expert motion after his point had been made.

Let them see him as a patron and benefactor; Let these girls remember him as the one who lifted them out of ignominy, so they would always remember and never forget.

 

This was just the first step in ensuring their unending loyalty; He know better than anyone that it took more than just maintenance of the body or the ego to archive that end.

With that in mind, the moment he lead his would-be followers into his personal ship was, likewise, moderately fabricated. When they were outfitted with simple armor for the battles, he had each candidate's measurements taken, and once his champions were chosen, he had ordered that both fine robes and custom-made battle suits be prepared for them, tailored to their particular needs and abilities insofar as possible – Now, they were ready and packed away in a crate in this very room, but before handing these to their new owners, he wanted them to come into this room as they _were_ , before their sense of themselves had the time to change.

He wanted them in their motley street clothes, still exhausted and dirty from the battles, tired and hungry from a day of exertion. He wanted the parts of them that were used to feeling small to take in this room so big there was room for a large, decorated banquet table with all the traditional trappings of a warrior's feast but none of its spartan minimalism, in addition to all the necessary features of a command bridge, and most of all, he wanted them to take in the image of his command chair turning around to reveal something contrary to their expectations, something informal and inviting much unlike the barbarian harshness they had grown to associate with the empire.

Most of all he wanted to come in here when they were still feeling like small mongrel creatures, and behold splendor they could never afford in a room larger than the lodgings some of them had grown up in, and sample all they had to gain from standing at his side.

The centerpiece of this performance was himself, arranged in an informed, relaxed, even slouching posture with a strategically placed adorable pet cat on his lap and his face armed with a smile that appeared amicable, but still bared his fangs and the light of cunning and ambition in his eyes – He had even broken with the Galra tradition of entertaining one's guests or underlings in full armor, and instead picked out an elegant set of white formal robes which consisted of a looser, flowing layer atop a more for-fitting one, as if to accentuate his lean, slender build.

In actuality, he was not altogether opposed to appearing in full armor as a display of strength, especially if it was a custom design rather than an uniform, but this, too, was part of his stratagem:

If he was to win their trust, he needed to appear as someone who was approachable to them, even _like_ them despite the privileges of royalty – in a way that was a very easy role for him to play, one that fit him more comfortably than his usual ones.

Lotor himself wasn't ever quite an 'outcast' except in the most frivolous sense of the term, but he _did_ feel slighted by his father's move to send him here, and this both informed and fueled his performance.

He would need to be at his best, because he understood that people like the recruits before him did not trust easily – They could not afford it.

Life for most hybrids in the Galra Empire ranged from the outright miserable to, at best, being quite comfortable but never quite treated as equals.

Some, the the bulky warrior named Zethrid, were raised by their Galra parents, but kept hidden away lest they tarnish the family's reputation, which was probably the most common course of action among higher-ranking officers who kept local mistresses.

In other cases, like that of the agile, playful Ezor, those parents had accepted the scorn of the community for the sake of their child and lover, a decision which was often tantamount with subsisting at the fringes of society. Others again, such as Narti, were brought up with their second parent according to the ways of their own community, which often meant that they were treated as part of the subjugated populace and made to do labor – and sometimes, the Galra overseers would treat hybrids better, but they were just as likely to get it worse, all while they and their parent might be getting shunned by the locals as well – and given all the misfortune that one could incur by choosing to keep a hybrid offspring, it should not have come as all that surprising that many of them were left to fend for themselves, as Axca had been.

Few had parents influential enough to ensure that no questions were asked, nor did most come as close to passing as a full-blooded Galra as Lotor did – For a species of fearsome warlike conquerors, their genetics were not all that dominant, at least not the ones pertaining to their external appearance – all things considered even he took a lot after his mother's species, he had merely been fortunate enough not to inherit any obvious distinguishing markers such as those crimson markings that his mother kept half-hidden under her hood.

Even so, this was all part of Lotor's gamble: The harder their trust was to earn, the more it would be worth in the end.

 

Sharing a meal and associating oneself with fluffy animals were, of course, tried and true means of building trust quickly, but the holy grail of today's meeting that might make or break their future cooperation was all about establishing a rapport, and so far, that wasn't really happening yet.

His would-be underlings were, perhaps, a little bit _too_ floored, even the ones with louder personalities didn't feel confident to help themselves to the food or begin conversation, though he could tell that they were certainly thinking about it, their thoughts plain on their faces.

The other two were somewhat harder to read, thought one of them – the one who'd won the tournament, Axca by name – was clearly not at all distracted by the sights and smells around her, standing in wait as if she was waiting for the Prince to give a sign.

That one already had the bearings of a soldier – if he remembered correctly, she had even attempted at enlisting in the armed forces sometime before, only to lose patience after being passed up for promotion time and time again – No one had outright told her that it was because of her status as a hybrid, at least not to her face, but there had been very little need to.

Perhaps, the others were simply following her example at this moment; It was by no means a bad thing that they were already looking to him for leadership, and though he hoped to see some of that initiative they had shown in the arena sometime in the future, he could not fault them for holding it back at the present moment – such were the ways of the society that his father has been molding for ages: No backtalk, no suggestions, no snappy comebacks.

Knowing the man personally, Lotor could clearly see his bootprints all over the various inner workings of his realm.

 

Time for him to get to work then, to do, once again, what he was good at rather than whatever farce His Majesty would have him perform.

With small motion of his hand, he communicated a subtle cue to his feline companion so that he might remove himself from the Prince's lap, and then, with series of measured, calculated motions, he rested his hands on the armrests of his command chair and used them to prop himself up s he slowly and deliberately rose to his feet, making wide gesture with his arms once he'd arrived at his full height.

“My esteemed comrades-to-be!” he proclaimed, once again fully immersed in his element. “We may find ourselves here on this far-flung backwater system in the outskirts of our great Empire, but lend me your power, and together, we shall make it into the spearhead of conquest like our realm has never known it.

Not only shall we attain power and glory beyond compare, no, we shall be the seed for a newer, stronger Empire in which all of us have our voices heard and our skills rewarded,

It is time to expand on the old ways. No longer will we merely push the boundaries of our realm further and further to fill up creation, no, we shall take the strongest parts of those we conquer and add their strength to our own, so that it will never cease to increase!

The best of their strategy, the best of their technology, the best of their soldiers... than and more shall be ours in ways that might seem unthinkable to our current way of thinking.

Together, we shall harness great sources of untapped potential, and put them to work in the name of Galra!”

With fervor in his voice and fury in his eyes, Lotor stepped forward as he spoke, gesturing grandly with his hands as he made his way to the table.

There, he lowered himself to what might have been considered servant's work, but there could be no mistake missing the deliberate action and grand symbolism of his deed, which he still carried out with a solemn elegance: He reached for an ornate silver tankard, filling five goblets and placing one before each of his new recruits, keeping the last one to himself, rising it into the air as he continued his impassioned speech:

“You yourselves are the best example of potential that has gone unnoticed because of little more than stubborn pride. You are the voices that have gone unheard, you are the power that will be used to establish a new paradigm, and most of all, you are the star that will lead us into a blinding, radiant future!

So, by all means! Relish this feast in your honor of your victory. To the future of the Empire!”

The girls had backed away from the table as he approached, as if his royal title cast a magical circle around him, but all on all, they appeared more wary than daunted.

He had indeed chosen well.

“Come on, join in. Feel free to tell me if there is anything that concerns you about this arrangement. If you are worried about your relatives, don't be. I've already had them taken care of. They are being moved to your new accommodations as we speak.”

Again it was Axca who seemed to just naturally end up in the role of the spokesperson, perhaps because she trusted herself to keep her tone and face measured.

Despite his speech, and even after his recent expulsion from the Emperor's command ship, Lotor was still heir apparent to the Galra empire – He might be acting friendly, but they couldn't fully place his intentions yet, and he still held enough authority to have them executed with a wink of his hand.

It was only rational to be cautious, especially since the entire idea that someone might bother with them for their own sakes was still foreign to them.

“You have our gratitude, your Highness.” she worded, keeping her voice and face under tight control. “You do us honor.”

“Please, please. We are to fight together as comrades. Just 'Lotor' will do.”

“As you wish...” and she would have continued in this controlled, businesslike fashion, perhaps moving on to the details, if she hadn't been preempted by Zethrid.

The large, muscular half-breed woman had kept silent so far, in part because she had been trying to gauge this unexpected situation of theirs, but her brash nature could no longer be contained, earning her a disapproving glance from Axca, though it was more alarmed than reprimanding – She seemed to have taken it upon herself to do the talking in order to protect the others from the potentially lethal consequences any misstep could have, perhaps, she had even outright told the others to listen to her, but Zethrid was apparently not the most obedient of sorts.

Lotor made sure to take note of all this and remember it for later, but for now, he had other concerns to adress:

 

“So, 'Just Lotor', is this the part where you tell us what the deal is? What is it you want with us? Are we just supposed to be your personal freakshow or something?“

Now it was not just Axca, but _all_ of them who looked at either Zethrid or Lotor in alarm, (well, apart from Narti for obvious reasons, but her forward shift in posture implied that she was to some extent very much aware of what was taking place, and she saw a chance that it might end with her sprinting out of the room to preserve her life.)

But Lotor remained calm – he was not angered, if anything, he found it quite convenient. That impulsive statement said out loud what the others must have been thinking, or at least considering in the shape of a doubt.

After all, he hadn't chosen them to be fools; If anything he would have been disappointed if none of them ever considered that they might be getting told a story – Lotor, of course, had waited for a mention like this to get to the next of his mental bulletpoints in his speech.

“And why would that be?” he asked, taking a sip from his goblet. The vibrant, fruity aroma of this imported berry wine was quite exquisite. “Why would I look down upon you right after making you prove your worth?”

None of them would outright say it.

They had known nothing else all their lives, and still the words weighed too heavy.

He had, effectively, disarmed them.

“My intentions are exactly as I told you. I am recruiting you as my personal guard. Serve me well, and you shall rise through the ranks. I hope you're not suggesting that I am being insincere with you simply because you are hybrids.

You have more than proven your strength. Indeed, it's _because_ of your ancestry that you've got such valuable abilities. And how could anyone look down on you for that when our very own Emperor himself once took a foreign consort?”

As casually as he spoke it, that line was well-intended to be a shocker.

They'd heard rumors, of course, but powerful people attracted absurd mythologies by nature and this far on the outskirts of the Empire, the trickle of gossip was all the populace ever truly heard from their rulers...

It was a whole other thing to hear it from the man's own son, and as a blunt statement of fact at that.

They may have had questions, but rather than risk incensing him with some unwelcome assumption, they waited for the Prince to introduce them to his accepted version of the truth:

“Is it truly so hard to believe?” he asked, putting down his goblet so he could have his hands free for yet more gesturing. “Come on. Just look at me.”

Now it was Ezor who couldn't contain herself; So far, he'd determined how her demeanor usually ranged between fierceness and upbeat optimism, but now, the hope in her voice was more of the moved, half-disbelieving sort: “You mean you are-”

“Yes,” he smirked. “I'm a bastard, in both senses of the world. I'm the same as you.”

There. It was out.

For so long, it had been an unmentionable, yet open secret, like some large creature in the room that everyone dutifully ignored –

As much as his choice to reveal this had be made for strategic purposes, he took almost a perverse delight in it, to reveal the dirty little secrets that his father wanted under wraps, just like he wanted Lotor himself on a leash – well, even the great Warrior-Emperor Zarkon couldn't always get what he wanted; He couldn't evade this lesson forever, just as the Prince himself had been forced to bear it, in his case sooner rather than later.

It felt good to let the words be heard; It brought him satisfaction to let them dissipate into the air around him.

Of course, with the Empire being the way it was, he knew that he couldn't afford to spread this fact to the masses, not without squandering his chances to expand his influence, but at least in here, among handpicked company on the bridge of his own ship, he would do as he damn well pleased!

So he was Altean! So What! Big Deal!

He was Galra, too, and he wouldn't let them forget it.

He was a warrior by blood and a conqueror by birthright, but he was also a skilled orator, a smooth negotiator and endowed with a cunning intellect – He was unique existence that was made to burn bright; He could not be any other way and he no longer saw any reason to dim his shine.

If anything, falling out of his father's good graces had strengthened that conviction, not called it into doubt – and with the new-found freedom that the remoteness of this post awarded him, away from his parents' meddlesome scrutiny, he would follow his ambition it wherever it lead him, and for that purpose, he now hoped to awaken a similar sense of pride in his new recruits.

Time to move onto the next step – begin by telling a story about yourself to create a sense that you're opening up to them and they can get a feel for your person. Let them in on restricted knowledge to make them feel special and position yourself as a source of truth, show yourself to be on their side.

“He took her from one of the first planets he razed, in the early days of the empire, and hid her in plain sight among his inner circle. I believe she stood at his side while he burned her homeworld to cinders.”

This was a cobbled together account intended to endear himself to them; In part, crafted because he only knew the bare outlines of the matter and had to fill in the rest, which he might as well do in a manner beneficial to himself when recounting the tale.

There were some deliberate omissions however, for one thing he was, at this point, well aware that his parents had been wed and that it had not been that much of a clandestine affair at the time, but such a thing could only have taken place in an Empire rather different from the one they all had known; It could have involved a pair of completely different people for all that it concerned Lotor – He'd even found an old, corrupt image file of the occasions.

The Prince had barely recognized the younger versions of his parents, but he did not recognize himself in them, either.

The smiling people in that photograph had absolutely nothing to do with him, even less so than the distant, warped shadows of the parents he knew,and he doubted that either of them could understand him as well as these wayward dirty girls he had only known about for a quintant.

“You understand now, “ he concluded, bringing his argument to a close “that you and I share a lot in common, so please, allow me to welcome you as my guests now, and as my friends and comrades in the future.”

 

He paused for emphasis there; If this had been a public speech, this would have been the part where the applause comes in. He wasn't expecting any of that now, but he was carefully scanning the room for indicators of how his words had been received, attempting to discern whether his words had had the desired impact.

Finally, the result became clear when Ezor, easily the most outgoing of the bunch, broke into a relaxed, easygoing smile. “Alright! Friends it is then!”

Not all of them were as forward as her, but he could see Axca losing some of the tension in her shoulders around the same time Zethrid broke out in a proud grin. There was no such obvious cue in Narti's case since she didn't really have a face in the way that Galra or Alteans did, but she followed shortly behind the others when they finally opted to approach the table and thereby join him in its vicinity.

They seemed just about softened up to the point where they could begin to slip into casual conversation, and indeed, Lotor's did not desert him:

“So, new friend, “ Ezor asked, with a good-natured smile. “What's his name?”

It took the Prince a few moments to realize that she meant the cat at his feet, though he managed to conceal any momentary confusion and bright forth a smooth, self-possessed answer:

“It's Kova. I've had him since I was a boy. He used to belong to my mother before me.”

That, too, contained some strategic omissions which were reliant on their ignorance about the relative lifespans of such creatures, but it was also not a lie.

If they were going to assume that there was some sentimental connection to his mother, or a kind of cherished memento situation that they could relate to, he wasn't going to correct that.

If he neglected to mention that his mother was still alive, it would seem congruous with the sparse official stories that were put out about him and make himself seem more relatable without telling an outright lie....

 

And with that, the ice was broken. Before long, the four warriors had begun letting down their guards and speaking in varying degrees of informal tones; Ezor and Zethrid outright cut loose, whereas Axca and Narti remained somewhat more dignified, but still distinctly at ease.

Lotor told them of the equipment he'd prepared for them as the girls descended on the banquet – and 'descend' was not an exaggeration here: For all they might try to act in ways befitting their new station (and some of them didn't) it was quite apparent that most of them were not used to such plentiful foodstuffs, let alone this particular selection of the Prince's personal favorites that would have been considered much fancier than the rather spartan sustenance units typical of Galra military get-togethers.

Well accustomed and no longer truly impressed by such luxuries, the Prince merely watched in amusement as the girls stuffed their faces (whilst Axca in particular tried not to be too obvious about it), providing the occasional comment about the dishes' origins whilst occasionally nibbling on his own, somewhat daintier portion, earning him a joke from Ezor about how he must have Altean taste buds.

He wasn't sure _where_ he'd gotten it from given that his father was a repressed discipline-crazed control freak and his mother a dry, minimalistic ivory tower scientist; Both of them, thorough utilitarian killjoys with no pleasure to their lives, nothing but work, work, work! Shambling tirelessly day and night like the haggard, desiccated corpses that they were.

At least, he had to commend them for finding each other in this great, big universe; No wonder that they had been willing to look beyond their home planets, it was truly a match made in hell.

Good for the two of them, he supposed.

He had to give them this - they'd lived very long and very bountiful lives and fulfilled many of their ambitions, crushing all that would stand in their way. In that sense, his ambition was the same as theirs... but that was as far as their similarities went.

They may have been dead shells, but Lotor was _alive_ , and he was done letting them spoil it for him. They had given him life, but it was _his_ life now, and it was _his_ turn to live.

Maybe for now he could only do it here, thrown out to this remote outpost in the company of outcasts, but Lotor knew nothing if not how to wait his turn, and he would be damned if he wouldn't be ready when opportunity inevitably fell into his hands.

Raising his goblet to the shining future and drinking a toast with his newest allies, he felt like that life of his own was finally underway, and not just because his plans were – for all his displays and speeches had been calculated and his alliances purposeful, he took some genuine delight in this company.

It suited him, like only something created by his own hands could, and he took to the presence of like-minded people like a fish to water.

It felt refreshing to strip back at least some layers of his masquerade and express himself where _he_ was in power and his parents' cherished 'discipline' couldn't reach, to have, after these many years of living between two worlds, finally have created a space where he was at home and able to move with grace and ease.

The rest of the evening went just as he'd planned if not better; The crucial parts that required his full attention were done with and the rest was child's play; his relaxed, playful smirk did not leave his lips for hours.

After the feast, he sent his new personal guard to unpack their new equipment and this, too, didn't fail to make an impression on them – Despite her initial wariness at the start of this meeting, Lotor was certain that he'd won Zethrid over when he saw her eagerly posing with the brand new blaster canon he had procured for her; She practically had stars in her eyes, and Axca had to keep her from actually firing it and blowing a hole in the walls. (Letting her play the part of the overseer, Lotor calmly remarked that there would be ample opportunity to try it out in the training facilities)

Ezor immediately went to try on her new armor, dragging Narti along with her once Lotor pointed them to the next room, only to return remarking on how comfortable it was and how great it was to finally own something that accommodated for their specific needs and greater range of motion, raising her arms to display how the uniform accommodated for the webbing beneath it and remarking on Narti's exposed adhesive toes.

Only Axca's intervention kept her from toppling the table in an impromtu demonstration of her acrobatics (Despite Ezor's insistence and her own obvious skill in the area, Narti had wisely decided not to participate, taking a step back as Ezor assumed her stance), but despite her insistence on keeping the other's grounded, Lotor was an experienced enough people-watcher to note Axca's own surprise filling up her eyes for a split second as she'd unpacked her own laser gun. Her reaction may have been more subdued but it was very much there, and perhaps, what was fueling her desire to keep the others in line, as if to make sure that Lotor did not regret raising her into his ranks.

Although Axca had stopped the immediate mayhem, Ezor's suggestion still managed to spark a line of conversation on the topic of their abilities, but it was more than a demonstration or even a strategically necessary briefing to let their teammates know about each other's abilities and particularities, rather, it became a discussion about the phenomenon of life as a hybrid in itself, and the experiences that went with it.

For perhaps the first time in their lives, they could speak about their unique abilities and the particularities of their bodies as something curious and even useful rather than something shameful to be hidden.

The Prince himself was no exception to this - he mentioned to Ezor that his mother's species also possessed some camouflage abilities, though he had not inherited them, and at one point, he staged a little demonstration of his own during which he rather impressed Zethrid by lifting her clean off the ground despite his slender frame.

(though unlike a full-blooded Altean in their prime, he required both arms to do it)

Narti could not really join in with the talking, but she answered yes or no questions with nods or head shakes and occasionally expressed her opinion about some statement with a gesture of her hand or a swish of her tail.

Lotor would have made sure to include her and give her the time and space to answer in her own terms, if Ezor hadn't already been doing most of that work for him, but overall, he got the impression that watching and listening suited her just fine for the most part – as far as he could discern, she seemed to be of a naturally calm and introverted disposition.

Nonetheless, the Prince regretted that he would not hear more of her story, at least not right away; It was bound to be one of the more interesting ones. One wondered how her parents had met and courted each other, when they did not share the same means of communication, nor even the same set of senses with which to perceive the world.

From the records, he knew at least that she was descended from a people who had evolved in dark, subterranean caverns hidden away under the thick ice shields of a moon circling this system's third gas planet – that world had been subjugated long ago, with the side effect that is population was conscripted to assist in the mining, as they were uniquely adapted to climb around these treacherous caves and tunnels, but in their dark, close-quarters kind of environment, there had been no need for them to develop much resembling eyes, as they would not have been of much use.

Narti, too, had not eyes, but from observing her, the Prince could guess that she had at least some means to tell what was going on around her and when allies or foes were moving, though it did seem to be more focused on her immediate surroundings and not nearly as far-reaching as sight or sound.

As far as Lotor was aware, the original subjugation force that conquered the planet had used a combination of floodlights and rifles to devastating effect.

Another fascinating thing about their people (as well as further reason why the invading force opted to take them out from the distance all those years ago) was their means of communication: Rather than using speech, they were all natural telepaths.

Lotor wasn't sure how they habitually communicated, or how Narti's skills in that area measured up to a full-blooded member of the species, but he'd seen her use the ability to devastating effect in the arena.

Even the name “Narti” was probably given to her by her Galran father, or perhaps just used for convenience whenever she went near the posts and cities' on the surface – it was quite possible that her mother had called her by a different name, something altogether untranslatable made from thought alone – alien thoughts filled with strangeness, for they would not contain neither images nor words.

By contrast, Ezor could hardly be stopped from talking and relieved everyone else of having to speak first. Perhaps her upbeat optimism was how she'd dealt with growing up in relative squalor, though it was not all pretense; As much as the general community had looked down at them, and even when she had been reduced to making a living as pickpocket or con artist, she had had the support of both parents for most of her early childhood.

Zethrid, meanwhile, rarely hesitated to add her piece when she felt the inclination and expresser herself in a direct, sometimes outright crass fashion. Out of them all, she had come the closest to being raised Galra in the traditional sense and it showed, particularly in her fondness for the bloodsport. Seen as a monstrous creature by both her father's servants and her own extended family and carefully kept away from the man's wife and other children, she had ultimately come to embrace the role of the monster in the attic, making little effort not to terrify people and terrorizing her governess. Her father had seen her unruly behavior in adolescence and unsavory career choices in young adulthood as a source of embarrassment, but it was _his_ blood that was making her itch for a fight and pursuits such as working as a mercenary or pit fighter were the only ways to get that when the army wouldn't take her.

Ever the stoic, Axca was the last to open up, but eventually, she did:

While Zethrid, Ezor and Narti were equal or even superior to a pure-blooded Galra, Axca's alien parent had come from a somewhat more fragile species, not especially weak when compared to the average, but all the same, not as sturdy as a Galra.

Perhaps that was why she had been abandoned as a child, seen as a weak, small thing that would never jump as far or hit as hard.

But when she had to survive by herself, weakness was the one thing she could not afford, and almost as if to spite those who put her down, she trained herself to be one of the best fighters in the entire system - What she didn't have in raw strength, she had to make up in skill, cunning, discipline and raw willpower; She became swift, agile and lethal, learning to use her smaller size and weight to her advantage, and to use the opponents' inertia against them.

But Lotor had seen her fight and beat all other opponents she had been pitted against, and he suspected that her greatest advantage in battle were her nerves of steel.

He had indeed chosen well.

After encouraging the other two to try out their new gear, he excused himself under a pretext in order to suit up himself, returning to reveal that he'd ordered a _fifth_ set of custom-made armor, the same as theirs and kept in the same colors.

Axca was the first to understand the implication, beyond just another gesture of posturing meant to portray himself as being like them: The point of matching suits was to be used together. He was effectively announcing his intention to fight beside them in the field, unbecoming for a Prince, perhaps, but what was the point of being the _Prince_ if he couldn't do what he wanted?

He liked the hands-on approach and believed in personally making sure that things were done to his liking.

Taking the implication as proof of his sincerity, Axca was, perhaps, overcome with the reality of the situation and the profundity of the changes that were to take place in her life, and adressed Lotor with a deep bow.

“You have our unending gratitude... How can we ever repay you?”

“With your service,” he offered. “There was a former Altean colony just a few parsecs from here. I believe they ignited the atmosphere back in the war. They left nothing alive but the ground bacteria and perhaps some lucky seaworms, and and ever since, the planet has been left untouched. I intend to inspect the ruins myself and search them for anything that might be useful in our conquest of this sector, perhaps some relics of their technology that we can salvage or reverse-engineer.”

“Wouldn't they have tried that back then?” Ezor interjected.

Lotor's features morphed into a devious smirk. “They did, but let's just say that I have something that they didn't... “

He held out one arm and grasped his forearm with his other hand, slapping against the dark fabric of his suit and the flesh beneath. “This. Right here.”

“You think you might be able to use their technology, have it respond to you....” Axca realizied.

“Why not? All of you got past the door scanners when you came into this room. I won't know unless I try. Your first mission will be to cover for me while I do just that.”

“I see....”

They were indeed beginning to grasp the Prince's designs, or the reasons why he'd chosen them.

“Isn't that kind of like raiding the tombs of your own ancestors, though?” Ezor remarked, half-seriously. “You've got to admit that it's a little bit screwed up.”

“It's my _birthright_ , as much as this empire is. They're all dead and **I** am the last. I doubt their skeletons will mind if we help ourselves to some of their equipment. Besides, if we want to expand our sphere of influence, we'll need all the resources we can get. ”

Apparently, Zethrid liked the sound of that: “Let's get ourselves some big guns!”

“Then it is decided. We're leaving tomorrow. ”

With that, his victory was sealed.

 

Of course, there had been at least one glaring omission in his declaration, in that there was one more person (that Lotor knew about) who could have claimed some right to those ruins, but she had long since renounced anything related to the civilization that gave birth to her... and most of all, Lotor didn't feel like explaining that particular story right now, and besides, even if he were to disclose her identity eventually, he would to better to wait and give his new followers a little more time to get attached to him before revealing that he was related to the Emperor's much-feared right-hand witch, and not just because being related to Zarkon himself was enough to overcome.

In terms of their public image, his father relied more on his sheer aura of authority than actual politics, presenting a blank slate for the masses to project upon.

He didn't really stand for any particular ideas - He had simply name was simply synonymous with power, and whatever 'power' meant to a particular citizen.

Even so, Lotor had many years to study his father's approach, enough to have him analyzed, assessed and understood – Though more of an enforcer and a warrior than someone who liked to deal with politics, one couldn't be the lynchpin of such a gigantic empire without transcending the existence of a mere man and becoming an idea that could be shared and spread beyond the boundaries of an individual's life experience.

For the state to remain a cohesive whole, he had to mean something to billions of people who would never see his face or hear his voice in their lives.

One way he did this was through fear: He had power beyond compare and not a shred of mercy.

The subjugated peoples of the universe knew exactly whom they had to thank for the current state of affairs, and any frightened stragglers that might manage to flee pretty much did his work for him as far as maintaining his reputation was concerned.

Then, there were the Empire's own citizens: Their Emperor had been a fixture of their society for many generations, so he represented... well, at times, Lotor would disparagingly term it 'more of the same', although he very much understood that it wasn't quite that simple.

Basically, the constant stream of new conquests impressed the people in ways much in line with the warrior society's general values – many didn't care how wasteful and short-sighted these whole strip-mining enterprises could be, as long as they accomplished the socially sanctioned goal of Striking Fear Into Ones Enemies and anyone who dared to voice any criticism could easily be silenced through the accusation of weakness, and how the Empire could not afford to experiment around, because....?

Well, there had once been the fear and mistrust of a people who had lost their homeworld, fear that left the populace desperate and willing to lap up anything that came with a promise of strength and stability to stave off total destruction – destroy them before they destroy you.

But that was many, many decapheebs ago, enough time for some civilizations to go from feral savagery to spaceflight, and though Galran generations took far longer to pass and turn over compared to many more short-lived creatures, their situation had changed so drastically that it could not be understated – most of the Empire's citizens were born into a position of power and privilege, where certainty and confidence... even _over_ confidence were taken for granted.

And who could make them change that?

Indeed, a downside to this enduring state of prosperity was a certain inertia, an inclination to keep doing what one was doing because it had worked so far. Espousing a change meant arguing with very powerful people, and one might be accused of undermining the foundation that lead their people to their present glory, and such stagnation wasn't helped by the continuity of leadership and the vastness of the universe that always held new riches for the Galra hordes to plunder.

There was nothing pushing the Empire to plan for its future or even acknowledge its present – a present in which it had very little to fear from those it kept under its merciless subjugation, and much to gain from making the most out of its vast territories.

But for now, as long as the status quo remained, so did his father's popularity, especially among the seasoned military types – and his father had long since set it up so that they held all the real power. His sheer power endeared him to them, as did his belief in vague notions of order, discipline and propriety – it wasn't even a performance, insofar as it were the man's actual beliefs.

He was very good with the command voice, indeed, he could never shut it off, not even for the few minutes it would take to listen to a few suggestions from his own son.

He created order around him just by virtue of existing, perhaps, what one might call a natural, and there were many people who might be inclined to follow that, especially if they doubted their own power and direction.

Put in the simplest terms, their government looked like this: Zarkon was the carrot, and Haggar was the stick, weeding our traitors and the like, except when you crossed them in which case you'd be facing two exceptionally vicious sticks.

Furthermore, the Emperor's carrot-like qualities were more of a side-effect than something to be relied on, appealing to a certain, strictly defined target audience – when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail - And for thousands of years, the Galra Empire had the biggest hammers in the known universe, but Lotor did not think that they could rely on this indefinitely, this is where father and son differed.

His Majesty the emperor had known nothing but power for eons; Not once in his life had he suffered his authority to be questioned, not even by those near and dear, not his sons, not his comrades, not his friends, not even his lover.

He was in command first and everything else second.

Lotor, meanwhile, had always lived a dual existence.

He was born a prince, but he also lived in a world where almost everyone was taller and sturdier than him. He was a celebrity from the day he was born, but there were things about him that had to remain hidden.

People trembled in fear of his might, and yet, they looked at him as an outsider.

It was inevitable that he should learn the ways of duplicity and cherish the value of versatility... it was the latter that had led him to assemble this unit.

 

It was then, as Lotor looked at his work in satisfaction, watching his underlings-to-be chatting animatedly about what tomorrow's mission might have in store for them, that a stray thought brushed against the surface layer of his consciousness, causing his eyes to dart around the room in search of his feline co-conspirator, who (and these were the technical terms) had most definitely been a good kitty today and deserved some extra snuggles.

Lotor found him sitting on the now empty equipment crate, and not on his own, either: While the others were conversing, Narti had apparently decided to seek some peace and quiet, and taken a seat on which to wait out the last of the gathering, and then presumably found her attention occupied by the small creature – how exactly, he wasn't entirely sure, as the cat's footfalls must have been too quiet to be noticed by hearing alone, if that was even how she was following their conversation.

 

 

“Getting along?” he inquired courteously, making sure that she'd picked up on his presence and had a chance to express her inclinations, if she should, for example, prefer to be alone.

She did no such thing, and, as far as one could tell from her body language, did not deviate from her usual calm in the presence of the Prince – in her own way, she too was beginning to act more like her natural self around him.

She did not answer, but her relative comfort with the likewise relaxed nearby feline spoke for itself. All things considered she _did_ seem like the sort that would stereotypically be a cat person, even if she was still much of an enigma to him.

He smiled at her, though he was not sure in how far she registered it – again, he found himself wondering what he must 'look' like to her, that is, how she conceptualized him in her mind.

Perhaps the thought of him entailed the rhythm and vibration of his footsteps or the scents clinging to him, or maybe, there was some uniquely telepathic quality to his presence that she could sense, some qualia that would be as foreign to him as colors were to her.

She might even have 'seen' him, the way he saw himself, through the eyes of that one combatants whom she telepathically strong-armed into turning towards where Lotor had been seated and forfeiting the match, but who knew how her mind would process that unfamiliar pattern of impulses...

But since she didn't seem to mind, he sat down besides the two of them, positioning himself somewhat sideways so that he could easily face in her direction, and then, extending one hand to strike the animal's back, eliciting a slight purr.

“You know, I think he likes you.”

 


End file.
